


Despite What You've Been Told

by syntheticSymphony



Category: Tales of Berseria, Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Gen, M/M, Spoilers for everything, lots of implied Eizen/Zaveid because thats what the vibes are
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2020-11-23 05:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20886869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syntheticSymphony/pseuds/syntheticSymphony
Summary: A drabble collection with a Zaveid focus.Latest chapter: Siegfried. The first and the last.





	1. Pulled Punches

**Author's Note:**

> Eizen shows Zaveid how to throw a REAL punch.

Zaveid isn’t sure how he’s found himself here. He’s leaning against a tree, arms crossed, watching Eizen pace back and forth in front of him. The wind malak isn’t really listening; its some bullshit lecture about the fight they’d _just_ had. Zaveid had socked him across the jaw and Eizen stopped the fight immediately, cutting it far too short for his tastes.

“Are you even _listening_ to me?” The other’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

Zaveid shrugs. “I don’t know. Sort of? What’s the problem anyway, you got an issue with the way I hit you?”

“Yes, actually.”

“… What?”

Eizen places his hands on his hips, sighing. “It was weak. No real force behind it at all.” He scowls. “This isn’t the kind of fight to be pulling punches.”

“How would you do it then?” Zaveid smirks and takes a step forward. “Won’t even try to dodge! Unless you wanna go the traditional approach - I wouldn’t be opposed to a little hand-holdin—”

He’s interrupted by a swift, powerful fist to his cheek, knocking him into a heap on the grass.

“Like that.”


	2. Know When To Fold 'Em

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long trips on the open sea mean there's not a lot of games to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "implied" who the fuck was i kidding

The sway of the Van Eltia and the yelling of the crew above usually make for a comfortable atmosphere, but not today.

It’s tense. Zaveid can taste it in the air, gazing out over his cards with a grin to the other side of the table. Eizen sits, contemplating his own hand, frustration clear on his face. 

“It’s your play, _First Mate_,” Zaveid says, his voice laced with amusement. The other scowls at him and slams down a pair of cards. They continue on like this, Zaveid playing along lazily while Eizen continues to lose - both the game _and_ his temper. 

“At this point I don’t even think it’s your curse makin’ you play this bad.” He’s laughing. “You’re just shit at this!”

“You’re talking a lot of smack for a guy within kissing distance.”

Zaveid snorts before he can process the actual words being said at him. “Yeah, right, like y- **wait,** wh-”

Eizen is leaning across the small table and grabbing Zaveid’s jacket in a fist before he can even parse what’s happening; their cards go fluttering to the ground as he catches the wind malak’s lips with his own. 

There’s a pause as Eizen catches a glimpse of Zaveid’s cards out of the corner of his eye, and he pulls away. They’re still nose to nose, Eizen’s mouth just barely brushing against his as he speaks.

“You did have threes. You lied to me.”

“Shut up and _go fish_, Eizen.”


	3. Heads Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bottle of whiskey, three glasses, and a gravestone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is dumb and im sad. sorry

Gentle winds blow over the mountain peak as two seraphim toast their cups with the one sitting on the ground in front of the grave marker, topped off with whiskey - on the rocks.

Zaveid drains his first, as Edna sips, neither of them looking at each other.

"Sorry it took this long."

Edna glances to her side briefly before averting her gaze once more.

"Not your fault."

He chuckles lightly, and then there's silence as Zaveid pours another round. He sits, crossed legged in front of Eizen's still full glass.

"It is. But I guess it doesn't matter either way."

Another pause, another sip of whiskey. Edna winces a little as it burns its way down her throat.

"I'm sorry. To both of you." He continues, leaning forward, hand on the marker. It comes back to him holding a single, golden coin, the tails side of it adorned with the reaper's face.

The younger seraph tilts her head and her parasol away so that they can't see each other at all.

"Me too."

She's quiet, a whisper, like if she speaks any louder the tears that threaten behind her eyes might finally find her.

Zaveid's next words catch in his throat, and he grips his glass tighter. He finishes off the rest of his drink and hangs his head, rolling the coin in his palm.

The clouds overhead are dark, and the thunder rolls. As the rain starts, Edna angles her umbrella so it covers him, too. He nods his head in thanks, and they stay, pretending they can't see the grief etched into each others faces.

They leave the full glass on the cliff. The coin sits next to it.

Heads up.


	4. Hell or Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Siegfried. The first and the last.

The first;

A thousand years, so long ago but still so fresh in his memory. He's cold, he thinks. He thinks that's what cold feels like. The exorcist's tether makes it hard to remember even the simple things. He's a blank page to be used to write orders upon, orders carried out immediately and with urgency no matter the cost.  
  
The pirate Zaveid's been sent to capture is a beast in battle, but he's still human; he seems to be hitting his limits when he pulls a strange weapon, a pistol of a design the malak has never seen before. When the trigger is pulled, Zaveid expects to find himself dead, like so many malakhim that had been taken by the Abbey, but he opens his eyes and his mask has been removed, the pirate looking down at him with kind eyes.  
  
That shot, that weapon, had broken whatever hold the Abbey's Legate had over him. It was as though every color was flooding back into the world. He could feel again, there was pain in his limbs from the fight and his head was pounding, and he was _afraid_, but he was _happy_, looking up at the pirate's face. Fear and joy gripped his heart in tandem, and he didn't know what to do.  
  
"Van Aifread," the pirate finally says, extending a hand downward. "You remember your name?"  
  
He doesn't. His true name, anyway. It's not there yet, but he does say: "Zaveid."  
  
Zaveid takes the man's hand, his savior's hand, as he rises to his feet. Aifread suggests they finish their fight, the right way, even though the entire purpose has been defeated. And they do, the malak relearning what it means to be free as he moves how he wants, pendulums in hand, wind artes flying. 

  
They're interrupted by the Legate, the man who'd sent Zaveid to capture Aifread, and as he turns to face his attackers, the pirate takes Siegfried and shoves it into Zaveid's hands.  
  
"I'm counting on you."

\---

The last;

  
Siegfried has become little more than an anchor to his past, holding him to memories long since gone. He uses it to kill, to set free those who can't be returned to who they used to be, not out of any sense of duty but out of obligation. It's what Eizen wanted for himself, and it's what Zaveid wants when he finally reaches that point.  
  
The Spiritcrest is huge, winding, and dark, the malevolent domain attracting hellion after hellion and putting its current occupant in danger. Edna was bright and tenacious, but not stupid, but even then her refusal to let him kill the dragon that used to be Eizen was _ infuriating_. 200 years he spent, back and forth between the mountain and wherever it is he decides to go otherwise. Siegfried in hand the whole time. He's on his way to try again when he meets the new Shepherd, assailed by a seraph turned hellion near the base of the mountain. He helps, kills it, because there's no way this bunch of _ kids _ has it in them to purify it.  
  
The Shepherd gets angry, of course, because a goody two-shoes little brat who thinks he's a hero thinks he can save everyone the easy way, because he's never learned to make hard choices. He gives the newbie a lecture and a pat on the back before he leaves the Spiritcrest for the last time.  
  
Some time later, he's giving the gun to the _ goody little two-shoes brat_. Find your own answers, he says as he drops it, along with its final remaining bullet, into Sorey's hand. To the only Shepherd he’s ever trusted goes a relic that holds Zaveid’s memories, his creed, his promises, his _ salvation_.

'I'm counting on you,' he doesn't say. He can't say. But the feeling is there. 

He follows that Shepherd to the end. What he thought was the end of the end, for all of them; staring down the barrel at the lord of calamity, pouring himself into Siegfried one last time in a frantic attempt to separate him Maotelus. He owes it to the kid to give it all, and he does, right down to his last drop of mana. A heroic ending he didn't deserve—and doesn't get, thanks to the combined efforts of Sorey and Maotelus.

He's gotta stop making friends with idealistic kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *disappears for exactly 6 months and then reappears with an edited version of an old rp drabble that i had no idea how to end* this is a bad apology :zany:


End file.
